


Fit to be Tied

by testosterone_tea



Series: Sex Shop Quartet [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Collars, Edgeplay, Emotional Sex, Handcuffs, Ice Play, Impact Play, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Praise Kink, Riding Crops, Rimming, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, Sex Toys, Spanking, Teabagging, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testosterone_tea/pseuds/testosterone_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock handcuffs himself to his headboard as an experiment and accidentally ends up partaking in a whole different experiment entirely. In other words: John is far more distracting than first warranted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Criminally Captivating

**Author's Note:**

> So this is part of a series. If you don't want to read the first two, all you really need to know is that a) John and Sherlock have ended up in a romantic relationship b) they are experimenting with sex toys
> 
> Once again, I apologize for the corny chapter titles.

John came home to an empty house, which was odd. Sherlock had assured him this morning that he would be here when John returned. John put his briefcase down, toed off his shoes and looked around, just to be sure he hadn't missed him.

It was unnaturally quiet.

There were no experiments on the go, the fridge was miraculously empty for once, and Sherlock wasn't sulking in any of his usual haunts. Unless...

John stared suspiciously at the door of Sherlock's closed bedroom door.

Sherlock usually only went in there when he was either sleeping or shagging. He obviously wasn't shagging, since John was out here. But John could have sworn he'd slept last night.

John approached Sherlock's door, frowning heavily. 

"Sherlock?" he said.

No answer.

If Sherlock really wasn't home, there would be no harm in opening the door.

That's when he heard something from inside. It was a weird sound, muffled. Suspicions raised, John grabbed the nearest solid object – a heavy book end – and flung the door open, fully prepared to rescue Sherlock from whoever was possibly holding him captive.

Which turned out to be Sherlock, actually.

John put the bookend down.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, crossing his arms.

Sherlock made another muffled noise and glared. John rolled his eyes, stepped forward and untied the makeshift gag from around Sherlock's mouth.

"It's fine, John," Sherlock said. "I'll get myself out."

"Because it looks like you're doing so well by yourself," John said sardonically.

Sherlock had handcuffed himself to the metal bedframe by looping the chain through one of the rungs, and now his hands were strung up above his head. His positioning kept him from moving around too much. John looked around the room and located the key first, although he couldn't help but notice that there was an untwisted paperclip on the bed as well.

"What are you up to?" John asked in amusement.

"Trying to see if I could get myself free," Sherlock said. "I already managed to get myself out of the rope ones, and I wanted to try with something more solid, such as–"

"Lestrade's police-issued metal handcuffs," John finished and sighed.

"I was doing fine," Sherlock said sulkily.

"Really," John said. "How long have you been here?"

"Only about an hour," Sherlock said. "Leave me, I will figure out how to free myself."

"If you've got it all in hand, what are you still doing there?" John asked. "Looks like you've managed to capture yourself quite thoroughly."

"I might have dropped my paperclip," Sherlock said testily.

"And the gag?" John asked. "Mind you, I know a lot of people who would love to gag you, but I'd never have thought you would voluntarily let that happen."

"It's more realistic," Sherlock said with a sniff.

And then, John was struck with a marvelous idea.

"That's not quite as accurate as you think," John pointed out.

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded, twisting to try and get the paper clip just out of his reach.

"It's not as if you would have all this time to do it," John said. "Not to mention, you'd probably end up being... distracted."

"Nothing can distract me from my goal of freedom," Sherlock proclaimed with a glare.

"Really?" John asked with another smile. "You absolutely certain about that?"

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Nothing would distract you at all. Not even a little bit?" John pressed.

"No! Now leave me to free myself!" Sherlock demanded petulantly.

"Ah, but that's not what you said," John said with a grin. "You said that nothing I do would distract you."

Sherlock nodded warily.

"Then I plan on staying right here," John said.

Sherlock glared, and John answered by lifting his arms up to remove his jumper. He made sure to stretch his arms up above his head to expose the line of flesh right between his vest and his jeans.

Sherlock froze.

"What are you doing," demanded Sherlock.

"Oh nothing," John said. "Just making myself comfortable. But you said nothing could distract you, so I really suggest you go back to getting free."

Sherlock tugged ineffectually at the handcuffs and wiggled a bit, but nothing he did brought him any closer to reaching the paperclip required to free himself. John got his vest off as well, and the sight of John's bare chest halted Sherlock's progress again.

"That isn't playing fair," Sherlock protested, eyes riveted to John's peaking nipples.

"Who said anything about fair?" John asked with a smirk, before he reached down to start unbuckling his belt.

Sherlock struggled to reach the paperclip again and only succeeded in knocking it off the bed altogether. But he soon forgot the wayward item as John pushed his jeans over his hipbones and down to his knees. Sherlock's eyes went immediately to the cotton pants John was wearing, which had a promising bulge in the front of them – and John wasn't even hard yet.

John shimmied until his jeans were down around his ankles, and he could kick them off. He used his toes to get his socks off, a maneuver that apparently impressed Sherlock. Either that, or Sherlock just liked the sight of John's bare ankles.

"Your calves, actually," Sherlock said with a slight blush. "They're very... strong. And... their form is very pleasing."

"Are you saying I have shapely legs?" John asked, amused.

Sherlock blushed harder.

"What ever happened to not getting distracted?" John asked with a laugh.

"I'm not distracted," Sherlock denied.

"Oh no," John said in a low voice. "You're not anywhere near distracted enough. But you will be."

Sherlock's eyes visibly dilated at John's words, and taking that as a cue to continue, John stalked towards the bed, eyes on Sherlock's helpless form.

"Well, well, well," John growled. "What have we got here, all trussed up and ready for the taking?"

Sherlock shivered, and starting at the end of the bed near Sherlock's bare feet, John crawled up his body, skin brushing against the fabric of Sherlock's clothes, but not coming into full contact, teasing him on the way up.

"John..." Sherlock said in a high voice, and then clamped his mouth shut.

John grinned and hovered over Sherlock, straddling his torso, but not putting any weight on him, not yet. He started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. With his arms shackled above his head like that, John couldn't completely remove it, but that was just fine with John. He could reach what he was after anyway.

Sherlock watched with wide eyes as John leaned down. He arched his chest up slightly towards John, but John stopped. Very slowly and lightly, John rubbed his cheek over Sherlock's chest, feeling the pull of stubble against Sherlock's skin. It wasn't a lot of stubble, just a day's worth of growth, but it was making Sherlock do this delightful shivery thing.

"John!" Sherlock said again, demandingly.

"Oh, my dear, you are in no position to order anyone around," John purred, and ran the tip of his tongue down Sherlock's neck, following his carotid artery.

Sherlock whimpered and exposed his neck, pulling his chin up to the side pleadingly. John ran the edges of his teeth along the line of Sherlock's neck, but didn't bite down, didn't nip the flesh beneath his teeth. Sherlock squirmed in frustration.

John licked the left wing of Sherlock's collarbone, that curved as gracefully as the arch of any fine work of architecture. He exhaled hotly into the space between Sherlock's pecs, and it stirred the delicate hairs decorating that area.

He applied just the tips of his fingers and his nose to the line down Sherlock's quivering stomach and finally let Sherlock have the tiniest of love bites right next to one jutting hipbone.

John looked down as Sherlock whined and squirmed. Sherlock was tenting his trousers already, and John took pity on him and undid his flies.

"John," Sherlock said, sounding a bit lost.

John hooked his fingers in the waistband of Sherlock's trousers and dragged them down, slowly. Sherlock tried to kick them off his legs, but John trapped him there with the fabric and nuzzled Sherlock's inner thigh up to his knee.

"John, you've proven your point, just..." Sherlock panted.

"I still get the feeling you think you're in charge of these proceedings," John said, a hint of dark in his voice. "You couldn't be more mistaken."

Sherlock pushed his hips up in John's direction and whined.

"I'll have to make a demonstration, I think," John said.

He started of with light touches, just the gentle pads of his fingers and the tip of his tongue tracing little lines over Sherlock's thin, cotton pants. Sherlock whined and tried to convince John to apply more pressure with another upward shove of his hips.

John grinned, and gently nuzzled into Sherlock's groin, pressing his balls up with a soft palm, licking at the fabric until it was damp and sticking to Sherlock's skin. There was a glossy spot on the front where Sherlock was beginning to leak through. John lapped at it, and Sherlock whimpered.

Sherlock trembled and writhed, but John was in no hurry. He licked at Sherlock's cock through the fabric until Sherlock's pants were soaked and clingy. By the time that John had mercy and removed them, Sherlock was desperately trying to get friction on his aching cock.

"John, please touch me harder," Sherlock begged.

"Harder, you say?" John said softly, his breath whispering over the slick head of Sherlock's erection. "You know, Sherlock, only good boys get what they ask for."

"I'm good!" Sherlock said indignantly.

"Are you?" John asked, and purposefully breathed hot air over his cock again. "Can you prove what a good boy you are... Sherlock?"

Sherlock made a huffing sound and tried to buck his hips up again.

"Or are you a naughty lad?" John asked. "It looks like you are. Nicking Lestrade's handcuffs."

"Borrowing," Sherlock insisted and writhed again, creasing the sheets with his movements.

John lifted Sherlock's legs up so that he could lick the spot behind Sherlock's balls, and Sherlock made a tortured keening sound as John applied his tongue liberally. John made his lips soft and mouthed at Sherlock's testicles. Sherlock cried out and spread his knees further.

"I could just come from this," Sherlock panted.

"Oh, I know," John said with a smile. "But you won't."

"What?" Sherlock asked breathlessly.

John withdrew and Sherlock made another frustrated noise and struggled against his restraints. John ignored him, calmly going over to Sherlock's bedside table and sifting through it until he found one of the many bottles of lube Sherlock owned.

He lubed up two fingers and pressed them up behind Sherlock's balls, circling and massaging Sherlock's hole without pressing in. Sherlock whined and pushed back, trying to get John to press inward. John chuckled.

"Are you a good boy, Sherlock?" John asked.

"Yes!" Sherlock said, writhing.

"Convince me," John said. "And maybe I'll let you come."

"I'm good, I promise," Sherlock said.

"That's a start," John replied, and slowly slipped his index finger up inside.

Sherlock let out a low moan and wiggled his hips. John could feel Sherlock clenching down on his finger and grinned. Inside Sherlock was soft, and John crooked his finger, pressing further in. Sherlock groaned and spread his legs pleadingly.

John teased him with one finger until Sherlock was trembling all over and the curls tumbled over his forehead were dark with sweat.

When John finally gave him two fingers, he cried out in esctasy.

"I'm... I'm going to..." Sherlock mumbled.

John pulled his fingers out. Sherlock cried out brokenly and squirmed again.

"Ah, not yet," John said. "You still haven't convinced me."

"John!" Sherlock howled, the corners of his eyes damp. "Oh, god, please, just..."

John leaned forward and took Sherlock in his mouth, running his tongue softly over the glans and sinking down further and enveloping Sherlock in wet heat.

Sherlock made a hoarse-sounding cry that was a mixture of pleasure and agony. John smiled around the thick mouthful filling him and sucked once. Sherlock sobbed, and his hips shuddered up pathetically.

"John, John, John, _please_ ," Sherlock begged. "I swear I'm good. I promise."

John drew back again, and Sherlock made a devastated noise. John slipped the two fingers back in and crooked them deliberately against Sherlock's soft inner walls. Sherlock cried out roughly, breathing ragged as John pumped his fingers in again.

"You promise?" John asked softly.

"I promise!" Sherlock babbled. "I'll be so good for you, John. So good – _oh_!"

John finally fingered Sherlock hard, plunging his fingers up and in, rubbing against that spot inside him that made Sherlock wail with every thrust. John could see Sherlock grabbing onto the chain of the handcuffs so tightly his fingers turned mottled pink and white. Sweat ran down his forehead, and Sherlock didn't care.

John took Sherlock's throbbing cock in his mouth and sucked once in a long, hard pull.

Sherlock screamed. John thought he could make out his name in the garbled sound, and just the feeling of Sherlock finally giving in was enough to send John over the edge untouched. Then, Sherlock's cock pulsed, spilling hot release into John's mouth. Sherlock shuddered uncontrollably and kept coming, and John swallowed around his spurting length as best he could.

When Sherlock was finally finished, he was shuddering all over.

"Such a good lad," John said, patting his flank.

He shucked his soiled pants and went to comfort his shocked consulting detective.

Remembering, John searched around for the key and used it to unlock Sherlock's hands from the headboard, holding Sherlock's chafed wrists in his hands.

"There you are, sweetheart," John whispered in Sherlock's ear. "You did so well."

Sherlock made an exhausted-sounding whimper, and John pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his torso and bundling him close.

"There's a good lad," John whispered, and kissed the back of his neck.

He waited until Sherlock finished shaking and had calmed down a little. Then, he went to the bathroom and got out the much-used first aid kit. He cleaned off Sherlock's wrists, rubbed antiseptic cream into the raw skin and then bandaged them.

"John," Sherlock croaked, voice still rough. "That was..."

"It certainly was," John said. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock said, starting to come back to himself.

"Are you sure?" John asked anxiously. "That was... intense."

"I... liked it," Sherlock said, and he was still so flushed from their activity that John only knew he was embarrassed by the way he dipped his chin down and wouldn't look John in the eye.

John smiled and kissed the back of Sherlock's hand.

"So, that's a "yes" on further experimentation?" John asked lightly.

Sherlock looked up, eyes gleaming. "Oh, yes. I think it's time we went down that avenue. Just think of all the new things to try!"

"That's a whole new section of the store," John grinned.

"Indeed," Sherlock said, moving to stand. "But now, a shower, I think. I'm drenched in sweat... oh."

"Oh?" John asked.

"My legs are still trembling too much to stand," Sherlock said, looking awed. "You have literally incapacitated me with pleasure."

John would be lying if he said that he didn't preen a little at that remark.

"And that... that worked for you," Sherlock said, locating John's come-soaked pants on the floor.

"Very much so," John said.

"So, if I were to pick up a few things from the store tomorrow..."

"That would be most excellent," John replied happily.

Sherlock finally managed to stand on wobbly legs and shuffle towards the bathroom.

"Oh, John," he said, turning to look at him from the doorway. "One more thing."

John looked up.

When he next spoke, his voice was still rough, but deep and rumbling, like a big cat.

"Promise I'll be good."

Before John could react, he escaped out the door to the bathroom. John chuckled again and picked up the handcuffs from the floor. Who knew something this good could come from Sherlock's mad experiments and a little bit of borrowing of police property?

Come to think of it, Lestrade probably wouldn't want his handcuffs back if he knew what use Sherlock and John had put them to.

Just as well. They might want to use them again.


	2. You're Hot and You're Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has some experiments of his own to try, and they mostly involve Sherlock being tied up, blind-folded, and at his mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter update has been a while in coming, but I hope it was worth the wait.

John was in Speedy's, just sitting and enjoying a good roast beef sandwich and a cup of tea when Lestrade found him. John sighed and waited for Lestrade to get himself settled.

That done, John asked, "What's he done this time?"

Lestrade shrugged. "What makes you think he's done something? Can't a bloke just come and sit in a shop and talk with a friend?"

John looked down at his roast beef sandwich.

"Okay, fine," Lestrade said. "I happen to be missing a certain pair of police issue handcuffs, and I would like them back, if Sherlock hasn't lost them at the bottom of the Thames or something."

"Melted them with acid?" John suggested and took a bite of his sandwich.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Lestrade said and sighed. "Seriously, John. When I asked Sherlock, he just gave me this shifty-eyed look and hedged around the issue."

John smiled and took another bite of his sandwich. Trust Sherlock to be too embarrassed about it to make up a story like he usually did when Lestrade's things went missing and he was to blame.

"You do know something!" Lestrade exclaimed, pointing. "I know that look. It's the 'Sherlock has done something funny again that I shouldn't tell Greg about' look."

"You really don't want to know, mate," John said, shaking his head.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, and suddenly caught on. "No."

John just smiled enigmatically.

"He didn't," Lestrade repeated, raising his hands and shaking his head. "God, bad mental images – why would you let me think about _that_? Wait – did you... No. I really don't want to know."

"Told you," John said, calmly taking another bite of his sandwich.

Lestrade glared. "I still want them back – and Sherlock is going to disinfect them with bleach and possibly hydrochloric acid, if he has any on hand, because... Jesus, John!"

Lestrade got up and left the shop, and John finished his sandwich and his tea before following Lestrade up into the apartment. Lestrade was standing over Sherlock, and Sherlock was sulking and washing the handcuffs off while wearing rubber gloves. John waited while Sherlock finished with his task and tried to hand the still-wet cuffs to Lestrade.

By the time Lestrade left, Sherlock was even more stroppy than usual. John just smiled and closed the door behind him as he went.

"Sulking, are we?" John asked as Sherlock flopped down on the sofa.

"No," Sherlock said sulkily.

"We don't need the handcuffs, you know," John said.

"But John –"

"We don't need the handcuffs," John repeated, and Sherlock sat up at the tone in his voice.

"We don't," Sherlock said, looking at John speculatively.

"No," John said.

"Show me," Sherlock demanded.

John lowered his voice and looked up at Sherlock. "Show you."

Sherlock stopped and swallowed hard before saying in a quieter voice, "Show me?"

"Better," John said, amused.

Sherlock looked up at John hopefully, and John sighed in defeat and took Sherlock's hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumb. Sherlock blinked at him and stared down at their joined hands with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"Come on, love," John said, and Sherlock blushed, but followed John to Sherlock's room.

"Take off your clothes and get on the bed," John said.

"But John –"

" _Now_."

Sherlock hurriedly started undoing his buttons, pink already rising to his cheeks as he kept glancing up at John before lowering his head to concentrate on his task. He always responded like that when John used his captain voice. But then again, no one disobeyed John when he used that tone of voice, because if they did...

They were punished.

As Sherlock undressed, John pulled his jumper off, but left his jeans and vest. Sherlock lay back on the bed, shifting so he was in the middle of the bed.

"Good lad," John said huskily. "Stay there and don't move."

John left the room to go find the bag of shopping he'd gotten earlier. He had decided on going to the sex shop from the case, the one that had started this entire venture. It seemed fitting. He wasn't going to use everything he'd bought just yet. But Sherlock didn't have to know that.

John returned holding several scarves, and Sherlock watched as John laid them out.

"I wanted a softer alternative anyway," John said. "I didn't much like the cuts on your wrists after last time."

"I was fine," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.

"Nevertheless," John said. "Put your hands up here."

Hesitating, Sherlock did as he was told, holding his hands exactly where his arms would get the least leverage. John tied the scarves firmly, but was careful not to cut off Sherlock's circulation. And he made sure that the knots were easy to undo – although he had brought a pair of scissors with him as well, just in case.

The first time they'd tried this, with the handcuffs, had probably been a bit not good. It had ended in a satisfying way for both, luckily, but what it it hadn't? If Sherlock had panicked, he could have done himself some real damage. John wanted to do this type of thing properly this time round, or not at all.

There was still one scarf left, and Sherlock said, "Tie it around my eyes."

John looked down at him in concern.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded eagerly, practically squirming.

"Why?"

"It will heighten the anticipation I feel if I can't see your motions, but I can still hear them," Sherlock said. "I'll hear something and want to know what it is, or to feel the rush of knowing I was right. I think I'll enjoy it, and so will you, tease that you are."

"Tease that I am?" John asked, amused, but did as he was bid.

Now that he had Sherlock laid out like this, naked and helpless, he felt something thrumming with tension low in his gut. He wondered if Sherlock felt it, too. There must be something about being restrained that made Sherlock squirm like that.

"You're so lovely," he murmured, running his fingers down Sherlock's side.

Sherlock gasped, head tilting to the side where John had touched him.

John trailed his fingers up and down for a while, touching Sherlock in different places. Here, just his fingertips grazing his neck and here, his whole palm cupping Sherlock's knee. As he touched Sherlock, Sherlock would arch into the touched, nudging at John's hands and sighing happily whenever John increased the pressure of his touches.

"We need a safeword," John said quietly, rubbing a slow circle into the skin below Sherlock's navel.

"We don't," Sherlock said dreamily. "There's nothing you could give me that I wouldn't take."

"Nevertheless," John said. "Choose one."

"And I get to choose?" Sherlock asked, sounding amused. "I thought the point of this exercise was you being in control."

"Yes, but a safeword is you taking back control," John said. "So it's yours."

Sherlock made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat.

"Bumblebee," he eventually said, pronouncing every syllable sharply.

"'Bumblebee' it is," John said, oddly charmed by his choice. "Shall we begin?"

"About time," Sherlock said.

"Stay there, and don't move," John said.

And then he got up and left the room.

He heard Sherlock make a questioning sound behind him and repeated, "Stay," as he exited Sherlock's bedroom. He made his way to the kitchen, and just as planned, there was a tray full of ice cubes in the freezer. John took them out and closed the door softly, hoping that Sherlock had no idea what he was up to. He grabbed the bag of sex shop items as well, bringing all of it back ready to test out.

Sherlock had raised his head, moving it back and forth even though he couldn't see anything.

"John?" he asked when the bed gave a little as John sat back down.

"You don't get words," John said. "I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth unless it's the safeword."

"What about noises?" Sherlock asked.

"Noises?" John said in a low voice. "Noises are exactly what I want from you."

And then he put the ice cube he'd picked out of the tray while Sherlock was talking directly on his left nipple.

Sherlock made a high-pitched yelp and his hands grabbed onto the scarves and clung on. John circled Sherlock's nipple with the ice cube, watching as it slowly melted, dribbling tiny rivulets of water down Sherlock's side. Sherlock made little gasping pants and then whined as John closed his mouth around the same nipple.

"Good lad," John rumbled, and Sherlock took several gasping breaths.

John followed the path of the ice cube with his tongue, playing with the different sensations. Once the ice cube finally melted completely, John sucked at Sherlock's nipple until Sherlock was arching up underneath him and throwing his head back against his pillow, biting his lip to try and keep the cut-off little noises behind his teeth.

Another ice cube, this time circling his navel and running underneath on the flat expanse of his stomach. Water pooled in the little dips of his body, and John lapped them up while Sherlock held his breath. John grinned as he nuzzled at Sherlock's dark curling hair that ran from below his navel to his groin. It smelled musky, and the scent caused John's mouth to fill with saliva.

Sherlock moaned helplessly as John applied the ice to his inner thighs, touching the ice to his delicate skin in between wet, open-mouthed kisses. John held the ice cube in his hand until it made his fingers cold and wet, then wrapped them around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock let out several ragged cries that turned into whimpers when John took him into his mouth.

John sucked at the head of Sherlock's cock, pleased to taste the salty-bitter flavoured pre-ejaculate leaking from his slit. He lapped at it, teasing more out. He pulled back and slowly stroked his wet hand over Sherlock's cock while simultaneously reaching into the bag until he found what he needed.

The clicking sound gave it away.

"A cigarette lighter?" Sherlock asked, breathlessly.

John pinched his nipple in punishment. "No talking."  
He lit a paraffin candle, testing it on the skin of his wrist for temperature. He'd researched this on the internet and even gone so far as to ask one of the sex shop employees about it. Soft candles melted at a lower temperature, making paraffin the safest for this use. 

Even so, he said, "If this is too hot, use your safeword."

And then he drippled a line of wax onto Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock gasped and squirmed, but didn't say a word.

"Good lad," John said, and gently rubbed Sherlock's nipple with his thumb. "Now, we're going to play a game Sherlock. You're allowed to speak for this one, but only in one-word answers. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, voice gravelly and interested.

"Good," John said. "Tell me what I'm drawing."

"That's not fair, what if I can't tell what you're drawing?" Sherlock complained.

John pinched his nipple again, hard, and he yelped.

"What did I say, Sherlock?" John asked in a low voice.

Sherlock was silent, and John patted his side. "If you can't tell what I'm drawing, then you'll have to accept the consequences."

"But –"

"You have a safeword."

Sherlock opened his mouth again, but was once again silent.

"Good. We'll begin now."

John started off easy. It might not have been perfectly symmetrical, but the shape should be easy to discern.

"Heart," Sherlock said, voice steady.

John stroked a warm hand up his cock once in reward, and Sherlock's hips hitched up involuntarily. John grinned and drew another shape.

"Star."

"Spiral."

"Pi."

With every correct answer, John stroked his cock again, slowly, and Sherlock gasped each time.

"John, this is too easy –"

John pinched his nipple, and Sherlock yelped. John had thought as much, he was just getting Sherlock used to the feeling of the wax. 

John started drawing more complicated things.

"Sword."

John stroked him twice this time, and Sherlock shuddered and spread his legs more. John wrote out an equation on Sherlock's stomach.

"Circumference."

Two more strokes and Sherlock let out a little mewl and rolled his hips up. John drew eight points on Sherlock's body and smiled slightly.

"Stars?" Sherlock asked questioningly.

John pinched his nipple and Sherlock yelped and protested, "But it is stars! I'm sure –"

John pinched him again and said, "It's not 'stars,' it's the constellation 'Orion.'"

Sherlock pinched his lips together, but didn't protest again.

John grinned, the started drawing something very complex just over Sherlock's stomach, making it quiver slightly. He could see Sherlock trying to work it out, fingers flexing over the scarves tying him to the bedframe. 

He waited for John to be finished, then said triumphantly, "Adrenaline!"

And then promptly whined as John wrapped his lips around Sherlock's cock and bobbed his head up and down, licking at the underside and rubbing at that soft spot behind his balls. He made a soft, desperate noise when John drew away, and went back to his design.

"O-o-oxytocin," Sherlock had to try several times to get the words out.

John sucked on his fingers for a few seconds and then massaged Sherlock's furled hole gently. Sherlock sighed and wrapped one of his legs around John's waist. As soon as John touched him there he went soft and pliant.

Still pressing against him gently with his fingertips, John drew the last chemical compound onto Sherlock's skin.

"Dopamine," Sherlock whispered.

John had lots of things he still wanted to try out. He had a feather that he wanted to tease Sherlock with for hours. He had the strands of a leather flogger he wanted to draw over Sherlock's back and over the curve of his arse. He wasn't finished with this game by a long shot.

But this game had other days.

The breathless quality of Sherlock's voice, the vulnerable shake as he mouthed that word silently to himself after he'd already said it aloud made John's heart throb almost painfully.

He leaned over and gently kissed Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock kissed him back, tilting his head back and sinking into it gratefully, as if John's mouth on his was something precious or necessary.

John reached down and started stroking Sherlock's cock again, feeling it throb in his hand, slick with leaking fluid.

"Come for me, love," John said.

"John!" Sherlock cried.

And then quivered silently as he came, pulsing onto his stomach in jets of white.

John gasped at the sight, tore down his jeans and pants quickly, and took himself in his hand which was still sticky with Sherlock's release. Several rough strokes later and his come coated Sherlock's stomach as well.

He kicked his jeans and pants off onto the floor, then crawled up the bed to undo Sherlock's blindfold. Sherlock blinked at him as John untied his hands, then used the scarves to mop off the mess on Sherlock's stomach.

John opened his arms and Sherlock twined himself around John contentedly, burying his face in the crook of John's neck. John took in a deep breath, nose in Sherlock's hair, enjoying the scent of Sherlock's sweat mixed with the faint smell of his fancy brand of shampoo.

"I love you," he murmured into Sherlock's hair. "I love you, so much."

"I do, too," Sherlock said sleepily. "I do, too."


	3. Show You the Ropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a bit tied up in his experiment, but that's all part of the fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter a lot. Hope it was worth the wait, to all you chaps who are following this story.

John had tried to keep the rest of his stash of sex toys secret from Sherlock, so that he would be surprised when John finally incorporated them into their sex life. Of course, Sherlock's thirst for both sex and further knowledge was insatiable, and he'd soon rooted out most of what John had kept hidden.

John thought that he'd managed to keep one last thing away from his eyes.

He hid it in a pile of old porn magazines that he didn't use anymore and didn't know how to get rid of. It was called the "Hands-on Handbook of Bondage" and John was trying to finish reading it before Sherlock found it. He tried to memorize the steps for some of the easier knots, but John was more of a kinesthetic learner. He had to do in order to learn, so seeing the words on the page didn't help out much.

He'd been reading it in the bathroom to try and avoid detection.

He thought he'd actually managed to hide it from Sherlock, and then one day, he came home from work early and found it was missing. Surely, he'd just misplaced it? A thorough search of his closet did not unearth it, so with a sigh, John concluded that Sherlock must have found it.

**Where are you?** He texted Sherlock after a short inner debate.

_Bart's. SH_

John frowned, wondering what exactly Sherlock was doing at Bart's with his bondage handbook. A flashback to Sherlock giving Molly sex toys without realizing the deeper meaning behind it made him clench his hands. Surely he wasn't getting _Molly_ to help with his bondage education?

He needn't have worried. At least, not about Molly.

Sherlock, on the other hand, really needed to _not tie up bloody corpses at the morgue with bondage rope_.

"Christ, Sherlock!" John yelped, scrunching his eyes shut.

Sherlock looked at him sheepishly. "I just wanted to try it out..."

"Try it out with _me_ , Sherlock!" John cried, eyes still covered. "I'm not adverse to the idea! Or, I wasn't until I saw this display!"

"No one saw it," Sherlock said sulkily, and John could hear him moving around, hopefully untying the bodies and putting them back where they belonged. "Oh, except for Molly. But that's fine."

"Dear Lord, poor Molly," John muttered.

"She seemed more alarmed by the rope than the fact it was dead bodies. Which is the opposite case for you, it seems. Thankfully."

"And you weren't alarmed by either, which is probably not good."

"Please, John, I was just trying to figure out if I could tie these knots properly," Sherlock grumbled. "There, you can look again."

Sherlock had thankfully disposed of the rope somewhere, hopefully somewhere where it would be burned. John helped wheel the bodies back to their homes in the morgue drawers.

"I'll have to ask Molly if rope marks show up later," Sherlock mused.

"Later, Sherlock," John said, shaking his head. "Now, where's the book?"

Sherlock located it on the lab tabletop, held open to one page with some industrial clamps of some sort. John didn't ask what they were normally used for.

As they made their way home, Sherlock said, "You know, John, I don't think I'm much one for doing the tying."

"Oh?" John asked.

"Well, obviously the knots were interesting," Sherlock said. "But when I imagined tying you up, it didn't really... do anything for me."

"You never know," John said with a slight shrug.

"On the other hand," Sherlock went on. "If I imagine our positions switched... well, it's not exactly a sexual feeling on it's own, but it's more appealing."

"I see," John said musingly, wondering if he'd get his chance to try out his hand at some of the knots in the book.

"And I had them all memorized," Sherlock sighed.

When they got back, Sherlock went and dug around under his bed, pulling out a rather impressive collection of different kinds of rope. Never mind John's book, how had Sherlock managed to hide all _this_ from him?

Each rope was carefully folded and knotted in the middle to make a bow. Most of the ropes were made of hemp of varying lengths, but John also located what he thought he recognized as jute, nylon, and cotton.

"Soft or rough?" he asked examining a hemp rope in bright red.

"Rough," Sherlock said, his voice husky.

John nodded, then said, "Get your kit off, then."

Sherlock's eyes darkened, and he started unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked into his trousers. John unfolded the rope, running it through his hands as he watched Sherlock quickly shuck his trousers as well, eyes fastened on John's hands.

"When I get back, I want you on the bed with the book open to the page, and all the rope we'll need laid out for me," John said, then went back into the kitchen.

He filled up a glass of water, then dug around in his doctor first aid kit until he found a pair of scissors meant to cut away clothing. He brought the water, the kit, and the scissors back to the room with him.

Sherlock was lying on his stomach on the bed, propped up on his elbows and waiting for John. The book was open to one page, and four bundles of rope were laid out neatly next to him. John put the glass down next to Sherlock and set the kit and the scissors within easy reach.

"Have you eaten today, Sherlock?" John asked.

"I don't need food as often as you do, John," Sherlock said petulantly.

"Well, that's too bad, because I don't want you fainting on me," John said. "The safety section of the book said it could happen if this is a long session."

"I doubt it will be that long. Besides, I don't _faint_ ," Sherlock argued.

"I suppose we'll see,"John said, but he wasn't done with that argument quite yet.

The tie that Sherlock had chosen was a type of frogtie, in which Sherlock's legs would be bent fully, as if he were in a crouch, and then tied like that, thigh to calf, so that his legs would look like a frog's. It would impede his ability to move, but not so much that he couldn't shuffle if he wanted.

"If this is too tight, or you feel your leg going numb, you tell me straight away, Sherlock," John instructed.

"Please, John, always with the safety debriefings," Sherlock huffed.

John brought the open palm of one hand down on Sherlock's plush arse, and Sherlock yelped as his cheek jiggled slightly under the force of the blow. A slight red mark remained, and John leaned over to press his mouth to it.

"You are not sensible enough to be the one in charge," John murmured, nipping at that spot again, making Sherlock squirm. "Now be a good lad and don't move too much."

John started with the left leg, pushing Sherlock's ankle up to his arse and leaning against it while he started looping the rope around both Sherlock's thigh and ankle. This wasn't too hard actually, it was a bit like a cross between binding up a wound and using knots he'd learned in the army to tie things down. His main concern, which was accidentally hurting Sherlock by tying the knots too tightly, was negated by his training as a doctor.

"Good lad," John said, patting Sherlock's bum, which was the only bit of him he could reach from here.

Once that was done, John looped another rope closer to Sherlock's bent knee. He could see Sherlock's muscle tensing, holding his leg still for John.

"You can relax your leg now, the tie should hold," John said.

Sherlock did, pushing outward to test if he could unbend his leg, but the tie did hold, as John had promised it would.

"Now the other one, love," John said, pushing his other ankle back like the first.

Once he was done with that leg, he admired his handiwork. Maybe it wasn't as aesthetically pleasing as in the book, but the sight of Sherlock on his stomach with his legs bound up still made something squirm in his gut. God, what a sight.

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows again and strained his head back to look.

"You should do my upper body, too," Sherlock said, sounding hesitant.

"Alright," John said gently. "Just choose one."

He went next to Sherlock's head with the book and flipped through it until Sherlock found one he liked. This one wasn't a difficult one either, and John had the feeling that Sherlock was trying to choose ones that John wouldn't have trouble with, simple ones to start off with.

This one involved tying Sherlock's elbows together and then his wrists.

"Are you sure?" John asked, peering down at it. "That position looks a bit painful."

"My shoulders can handle it," Sherlock said. "Besides, you don't have to force my elbows to meet, just get them as close as possible without hurting me."

"If you feel anything stretching too much..."

"Yes, yes, safeword."

John smacked his arse again and looked at the picture before choosing another rope.

"Wrists together, love," John said.

Sherlock complied, pressing the insides of his wrists together for John to finish tying. That didn't take long, and John considered the logistics of the next tie carefully before doing anything.

Once he was done, he once again drew back to look at Sherlock laid out in front of him, helpless to do anything but squirm. It was delightful, and John felt a thrill run down his spine.

"Picture," Sherlock said, voice muffled in his pillow.

"Picture?" John asked hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I want to look in the mirror, but obviously I can't do that, so a photo is the next best option," Sherlock said.

"As you wish," John said.

His phone was on the bedside table, and he backed up to get a wide shot of Sherlock that fit all of the bondage work done on him, then came closer to take close-ups of the knots he'd used. He brought the phone down next to Sherlock's face and flicked through them.

"Satisfied?" he asked, and Sherlock hummed happily.

"Don't erase them," Sherlock murmured.

"If you insist," John said. "But if Lestrade ever looks through my phone..."

"Then he will probably be scarred for life and never do it again," Sherlock said, smiling.

"Now that's done, we can get to the fun part," John said, rubbing his hands together.

"Fun part?" Sherlock asked. "That wasn't the fun part?"

"We haven't even started on the fun part," John said. "And we'll start off with this question: when was the last time you ate anything, Sherlock?"

"Oh, not that again –"

John smacked his exposed arse, on the right cheek this time. "When was it?"

"It was yesterday afternoon," Sherlock griped. "But I'm fine!"

"Ah, ah, ah. I don't think so," John said. "Stay here."

"As if I have a choice in the matter."

"Safeword!" John reminded him, before leaving the room again. 

He hurried, because the book told him not to leave someone tied up by himself. As he remembered from earlier, there were some apples in the fridge. And cheese – proper aged Cheddar, not that weird squidgy stuff Americans liked to buy.

He made a plate of apple chunks and bits of cheese and took it back to the bedroom. As an afterthought, he got some liquid honey out of the cupboard and drizzled it over the apples.

"Really, John?" Sherlock asked. "Bit bachelor-esque don't you think?"

"I'll have you know it is a well accepted fact that cheese and apples are a good food pairing," John said. "Now roll over and get up on your knees."

It took some maneuvering, but eventually Sherlock managed, although it left his hair ruffled and his face flushed bright pink. It was a very fetching look on him.

"You'll get a reward if you're a good lad and eat the food I made," John said.

"Chopping up food hardly constitutes "making," John," Sherlock said.

"Mouth open," John instructed.

Sherlock complied, staring John in the eye as John lifted up a little slice of apple to his lips. Sherlock's eyes glinted, and John nudged the piece of apple against his mouth. Sherlock reached out and bit into the apple delicately, chewing and then swallowing, eyes fastened to John's face. John leaned forward and brushed a kiss over his honey-sweet lips.

"Good lad, Sherlock," he whispered. "Now finish the rest."

After every bite, John rewarded him with a kiss, and after the last slice of apple was consumed, John chased the sweetness of honey past Sherlock's lips and licked into his mouth. Sherlock made a soft moaning noise as John explored his mouth throughly, until the taste of honey had faded. He put the plate on the bedside table and then stroked down Sherlock's sides. Sherlock whimpered and squirmed, but his restrained arms prevented him any other movement.

"Right, back on your front, love," John said.

Eyes dilated, Sherlock complied, looking back over his shoulder at John as John positioned his knees for him, propping his arse up in the air.

"Now for your reward," John said, grinning.

His hands went to Sherlock's arse, round, shapely and perfectly firm and pliant in his hands. Sherlock's breath hitched as John's hands caressed him, followed by his mouth, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to his skin.

"J-john –" Sherlock panted, squirming.

John kissed his tailbone. "Yes, love?"

Sherlock made a wordless moaning sound and squirmed, unable to move far. John rubbed his face, five-o-clock stubble rough, against Sherlock's skin. A visible shiver ran up Sherlock's spine, and John used his thumbs to spread Sherlock open.

"Oh..." Sherlock groaned, low in his throat, wiggling in his bonds.

John fluttered a kiss over Sherlock's pink, furled hole and Sherlock bucked and whined. Holding him still with his hands, John kissed him again more firmly and mouthed against it, his heated breath making Sherlock shudder.

"Such a good lad," John praised, and circled his tongue around the tight pucker.

He could hear Sherlock's breathing getting louder and pitchier as he licked at Sherlock's hole. He flattened his tongue against Sherlock's perineum and dragged it up slowly and firmly. Sherlock shoulders quivered, and he was muffling whimpers in the pillow underneath his head. John wiggled his tongue agains his opening, pushing and slicking it with saliva.

" _John... John – oh God – John_..." Sherlock sobbed between heaving breaths.

"Good lad," John soothed, kissing his back.

With gentle pressure, John opened him up with his lips and tongue, coaxing him to loosen. Sherlock's hole was pink and wet with the attention John lavished on it, and fluttered with every touch. Sherlock took gulping breaths around long, deep moans.

"Are you ready for my fingers, sweetheart?" John asked.

"Yes, yes, yes, _please_ , John," Sherlock gasped.

John smiled and got the lube out of the bedside table, carefully slicking his fingers before slipping two directly into tight, wet heat. Sherlock gasped and wiggled again and John watched as Sherlock's hole stretched around his fingers. He curled them gently, scissoring them, before adding a third. Sherlock was so loose and pliant right now, when all he could do was moan into the pillow and shudder.

"Turn over again love," John said.

Sherlock tried to do as requested, but his muscles were trembling too much, and John had to help. Considering the position he wanted Sherlock in, he untied his arms, massaging them carefully. He retied them up in front of him. As he did, John checked his fingers and toes for signs of circulation problems.

"Still okay being tied up?" John asked. "No cramps?"

"I'm okay," Sherlock slurred, pulling his tied knees up so that John could see his wet hole.

"Good," John said.

He rummaged around in the bedside table until he found what he was looking for. It was a fairly small sized dildo compared to the selection available, but it was larger than anything Sherlock had had in him thus far.

"Is this okay," John asked, holding the dildo up.

Sherlock's already dilated pupils went huge at the sight, and his flushed cheeks darkened even more. For a moment, John wasn't sure it wasn't a fear reaction until Sherlock nodded vigorously.

"God, yes," he gasped. "I've wanted you to for ages, John. I just didn't..."

"Didn't know how to ask?" John asked softly.

Sherlock nodded, eyes shy.

"Well, let's try it out together, then," John said.

Sherlock watched as John slid the dildo into a condom and slicked it up with lube. First, John slid his fingers into Sherlock, searching around until he found the bump of Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock was leaking in earnest onto his flat stomach, and when John hit his prostate, his cock jerked slightly against his belly and dripped more sticky fluid next to his navel.

"Deep breath now," John instructed, and then pushed in.

"Oh!" Sherlock threw his head back against the pillow, legs twitching as John pressed in slowly but firmly.

"Okay?" John asked.

"K-keep going," Sherlock gasped, eyes fluttering closed, mouth open in a gasp.

John eased it into Sherlock. At first, there was slight resistance, but all at once, it went in easily in one, smooth slide. Sherlock shuddered hard and moaned.

"John, p-please –"

Remembering where he'd found Sherlock's prostate, John drew the dildo partially out and then pressed it back in. Sherlock's eyes flew open, and he gasped. Following that cue, John started up a slow rhythm that had Sherlock writhing on the bed and pulling his knees back more.

"Harder," he begged, and John complied.

John watched the dildo disappear into Sherlock's hole, watched as the pink rim swallowed it up over and over again. John could see tear-tracks on Sherlock's face as he moaned and arched his back.

"I-I'm almost there, John," Sherlock gasped, voice hoarse.

John kept pumping the dildo inside of Sherlock, but took his other hand, slicked it through the fluid on Sherlock's stomach, and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's throbbing cock. Sherlock fairly howled as John jerked his cock in time with the thrusts from the dildo.

"John – J-john – _oh_ –" Sherlock cried out and came hard, clenching around the dildo and shuddering as his release spilled all over his stomach and chest.

As he came, John kept fucking him through it, and Sherlock wailed, and kept coming. When he'd at last spent himself, he was trembling too hard to do much of anything. John slid the dildo out and disposed of the condom before untying Sherlock.

Sherlock lay there panting for several minutes, little shivers still running through his body. John waited patiently, even though his cock was throbbing against the zip of his jeans.

Eventually, Sherlock raised his head and smiled, eyes still blown wide from the rush of endorphins.

"Think you're up to a little more?" John asked gently, pushing his fingers through Sherlock's damp curls.

Sherlock nodded, pliant and warm, like a large cat.

John got his shirt and jeans off, aware that Sherlock was watching him undress. John's pants were damp with precome, and his cock was flushed and thick as it sprung free from its confines.

"Lie back, love, I'll be doing all the work here," John instructed.

Sherlock hummed and turned on his back, limbs still loose from pleasure. John carefully straddled his head, putting a hand on the bed for balance.

"Open your mouth," he said, and he felt warmth as Sherlock's breath exhaled across his balls.

Bending his knees, he lowered himself until he felt Sherlock's lips on his sack and groaned at the heat and wetness. Sherlock's lips moved, mouthing at his sensitive skin and darting out with his tongue. John felt a throb low in his gut, and he bobbed himself lower until his testicles were enveloped in wet heat.

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed.

Sherlock hummed in agreement, and John shuddered at the vibrating sensation that send through him. He raised himself up and the lowered himself again. God, this was so dirty. Sherlock moaned louder, and John made a muffled sound in the back of his throat in reply. Sherlock lapped and mouthed at him, mindful to keep his teeth out of the equation.

"Oh, geez, Sherlock –" John hissed, free hand going to his cock.

It was sloppy, because he was jerking himself off with his non-dominant hand, but this still wasn't going to take long. Having Sherlock's mouth on such a sensitive area was only half of it, the other half was the thought of how filthy he was being, and how eager Sherlock was to participate in this act.

And suddenly, Sherlock's hands were spreading out across his arse cheeks, and Sherlock's thumb was massaging his perineum. His mouth didn't stop lapping at him, and John's hand stuttered on his cock. Sherlock circled hard with his thumb, and John felt a jerk in his abdomen.

"Sherlock, coming –" John gasped, roughly pulling on his cock as he spilled all over Sherlock's chest as Sherlock kept licking and pressing with his thumb.

He only barely got himself off of Sherlock and turned around before collapsing.

"Fuck," he said again, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Sherlock rolled over so that they were pressed together and nuzzled his nose behind John's ear. John laughed and cupped the back of Sherlock's head with one hand.

"You're gorgeous," he said, and Sherlock made a pleased purring noise in response.

After their pounding hearts both slowed down to a normal pace, he asked, "Think we can top that one?"

"Oh, most definitely," Sherlock growled in his ear.

John, whose whole body was still too shaky too move much, wasn't so sure. But he was certainly up to the attempt!


	4. Crime and Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a little morning session with a riding crop to brighten up your day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely haven't been keeping up with writing this very well. Sorry, it's been a few months since I updated this. I do remember to keep writing occasionally. I hope you like riding crops.

It was an ordinary start to the day, and John hummed contentedly as he made himself and his still-sleeping lover some tea. He hardly paid any attention as Sherlock shuffled into the living room, wrapped up in only a white sheet. He made their cups up and brought them over to the table only to find that Sherlock had left him a present on top of his morning newspaper.

John carefully set the cups down.

He picked up the riding crop and examined it, turning it over in his hands. Real leather, supple, springy – this was an actual riding crop and not just a prop. Expensive. Someone had oiled it recently.

"I take it this isn't the one that you used at the morgue?" John asked, still running his fingers up and down the handle.

"Obviously not," Sherlock drawled, but John could see his eyes following John as he sipped his tea.

John raised the leather close to his face and took in a deep breath, savouring the scent of leather. His mouth watered, and he felt hair prickling on the back of his neck with excitement.

"Sherlock?" John said, pausing to make sure he had his attention.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock pretended nonchalance, but John could see his pupils expanding from across the table.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" John asked in a low, husky voice.

"Yes," and Sherlock's voice was dark with hunger.

"Good," John said, and slapped the crop against his outstretched palm.

The spring-snap of the crop made a visible shudder run down Sherlock's spine, and John smiled dangerously.

"On your bed, nude, hands on the bedframe. Five minutes. Think you can do that for me, darling?"

Sherlock was up and out of his chair, scrambling for the bedroom as soon as John was finished speaking. John smiled and breathed in the scent of leather. Ah, it was lovely. He wanted this. It was something he'd wanted for a while now, but he hadn't been sure if Sherlock was okay with impact play. They had been having quite a lot of fun with bondage over the past few weeks, and that had been working out fine for them.

But oh, how he wanted.

His cock was already beginning to stir against the front of his jeans. He palmed himself briefly through the rough fabric, then got up out of his seat and tested the swish-crack of the crop against his hand again. No, it wouldn't break the skin, but how it would sting against Sherlock's skin.

He got up sedately, and had a wander around the kitchen, just running his fingers over the crop again and again as he waited. In truth, the waiting was probably just as torturous for him as it was for Sherlock. But he had more patience, could wait for an entire day if it would only make Sherlock more pliant, more desperate for him at the end of the wait.

Finally, John deemed it a sufficient amount of time and made his way towards the bedroom.

Sherlock's sheet was curled up on the floor in the hallway, and just the sight of it made John's mouth water. He supposed that turnabout was fair play. Sherlock knew what the hint of nudity did to John. It was hardly John's fault, Sherlock's body was glorious, like an white canvas waiting for him. That was why he looked so divine all tied up – or reddened by crop weals.

John's jumper joined the sheet on the floor, and John proceeded into the room.

Sherlock was exactly where John had ordered him to be. Both hands were clenched around the iron bedframe, and he was leaning forward so that his sculptured back was arched and his pert bottom was tilted up. He had his knees spread wide, showing off the sleek definition of his thighs. John sighed happily and walked around him to get a good view from all angles. 

John ran the riding crop up Sherlock's arm, watching goosebumps prickle up his forearm. He followed his bone structure right up the the swell of his shoulders, and then ran the rich leather down the ridged length of his spine. Sherlock shivered under the attention, and almost seemed to preen, although he didn't move.

John let the crop rest just where Sherlock's crack started, but didn't dip down between his cheeks just yet. That would be for when he had Sherlock begging for it. 

Sherlock always said he never begged.

John made sure to prove him wrong every time.

John removed the crop and then ran it up from the soft skin behind Sherlock's knee up to where his thighs met his arse. He ever so lightly brushed the leather over Sherlock's bollocks and grinned when Sherlock inhaled sharply.

"I'm not tying you up this time, Sherlock," John said, running the leather tip along Sherlock's inner thigh. "Your only restraints will be your own willpower. You will keep your hands where they are now."

"And if I move them?" Sherlock asked, his voice a low rumble.

"You'll be..." _Swish-crack_. Sherlock yelped. "Punished."

Sherlock whimpered and shifted on the bed, but his hands remained where they were. John admired the pinkish mark on Sherlock's plush behind and inspected it with his thumb. It was slightly warm to the touch. He hadn't hit Sherlock too hard the first time. He would work up to that.

"I'm going to give you twenty-four strokes, Sherlock," John continued. "I want you to count them for me. If you say anything besides counting, I'll add on six more. If you move your hands, I'll add on six more. Understood?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Remind me what your safeword is," John said, running the crop over the mark he'd left.

"You know what it is, John – ah!" 

"That's six more," John said sternly. "Tell me your safeword, and then we'll continue with your cropping. We'll start at three, since I've given you two already."

"Bumblebee," Sherlock said grudgingly, cheeks pink.

"Good," John said, then aimed his next hit for the place where Sherlock's thighs met his body.

Sherlock gasped sharply, but managed to say, "Three."

John hit him three more times, alternating cheeks and working his way up over Sherlock's arse, intent on covering his entire bottom in stinging pink marks. They stood out so beautifully against Sherlock's alabaster skin. With each hit, Sherlock made a little gasping inhale before counting it dutifully. John added another six on top of that, keeping the pacing fairly regular, until he'd painted Sherlock's entire backside with pink marks.

"Twelve," Sherlock gasped. 

John ran the leather tip over the curve of Sherlock's arse, and Sherlock wiggled. John heard a low whimper from Sherlock's throat, and reached out with his hand to knead his supple flesh. It was hot to the touch, and Sherlock squirmed even more. No doubt his arse was burning by this point.

The pain hadn't had the least negative effect on Sherlock's erection. It was straining out from his body, and as John looked, it twitched slightly. The flushed head was exposed and dripping precome into a tiny little slick puddle underneath him on the sheets. John grinned and ran the crop up the length of it, and Sherlock whimpered and tried to thrust against it. John swiped the crop through the sticky precome leaking from his cock and then brought it up to his face to rub it along his cheek, smearing the thick fluid across his skin.

"Look what a mess you've made," John whispered, pushing the crop up against his mouth. "So eager for it, my dirty little cock slut."

He made his way back to the other end of the bed, and swung again, this time a little harder. Sherlock yelped this time.

"Thirteen," he whined raggedly, voice higher.

"Good," John said. 

Now, he switched it up. Sometimes, he would only lightly slap Sherlock, and others he would hit as hard as he dared. He tried to keep the strength behind his hits patternless, and sometimes he would hit in quick succession, and other times draw it out between hits.

He had to keep his genius guessing, because nothing was more boring than being predictable.

He aimed a hit at the back of Sherlock's thighs, and Sherlock squeaked in surprise. A glob of stringy precome hung from the tip of his cock before dripping onto the sheets.

"Tw-twenty-four," Sherlock burst out belatedly. It was a slow reaction, but John would let it slide.

Sherlock's eyes were becoming glazed over, and John would bet anything he was high as a kite on endorphins. He was also flooded with arousal, which made John's cock throb in sympathy. Soon this would be over, and then they could both come. 

"Just six more, darling," John said, running a hand over his heated skin. "You're doing so well. My good lad."

Sherlock whimpered as John said that. He loved it when John called him his good lad, so John made sure to say it at least once during their more forceful sessions. To be honest, John rather liked calling Sherlock his anything, and it was adorable how much Sherlock grew flustered when he was called the endearment unexpectedly.

He decided to finish off Sherlock with six alternating hits, so that Sherlock would know this was the end, unless he forgot to count or moved his hands. Sherlock was shivering with anticipation, forehead beaded with sweat.

"Soon you'll be done, just a few more," John said, even as he laid another mark on Sherlock's cheek. 

He loved how the flesh actually rippled with each smack. Sherlock's arse was perfect for this. With that hit, Sherlock made a little sobbing noise. He saw a little drop fall from underneath the curtain of Sherlock's hair, which was concealing his face. His head was bent low.

"Twenty-five," Sherlock said with a sniffle.

John smacked him again a moment later, keeping the beats between them in his head like the cadence of marching. 

"Twenty-six," Sherlock gasped, his voice going wobbly.

The last four hits resounded, and each of Sherlock's counts came with a little sob. When it was over, John laid down the crop, so that Sherlock could see that he'd put it down.

"You've been such a good lad," he praised. "You can speak now. Would you like your reward?"

"Yes, John," Sherlock hiccuped.

John unzipped his jeans and shoved both denim and pants down around his knees. Sherlock was still in the same position, not moving his hands. John found the lube on the bedside table, quickly smeared it over the length of his own erection, then got on the bed behind Sherlock. He gathered Sherlock into his lap, and his slick cock slid up between the still-hot cheeks of Sherlock's arse.

Sherlock gasped and whimpered, "Please, John."

John reached around and used the same lube to slick up Sherlock's erection, although it was hardly necessary with how much he'd been leaking. Sherlock made another whimpering noise as John started slowly but firmly stroke his cock from root to tip, swirling his thumb over the head. Sherlock pushed up into his fist and then ground down into John's lap.

John groaned and thrust up against Sherlock, grinding his cock against Sherlock's arse. This wasn't going to take long at all. All he could imagine was his cock slipping between Sherlock's bright pink cheeks, rubbing himself all over the flesh he'd painted red with the crop.

Sherlock was making little mewling noises, so John sped up his strokes until Sherlock was wailing in between gasping breaths. 

"John!" he cried once, and then pumped a gush of creamy liquid all over John's fist.

That was all John needed to push him over the edge, and he came all over Sherlock's arse.

They both collapsed together on the bed, too drained from the session to bother to get up to get a washcloth to wipe them both down. John bundled Sherlock into his arms and held him against his chest, whispering nonsense into Sherlock's hair. He petted his hair and told him how good he was until the little shakes that wracked Sherlock's overwhelmed body stopped.

"Should get up," Sherlock slurred.

"Yeah, I think we're due for a little trip to the shower," John said ruefully.

They were still contemplating getting up, because it was still late morning, when Sherlock's phone went off next to their ear. Sherlock leapt to get it, forgetting that sudden movements might exacerbate the issue of Sherlock's behind. He hissed in a breath, but answered the phone.

"Lestrade," he said. "This had better be good."

John could hear the murmur of Lestrade's voice, but he knew it must be something good by the way Sherlock sat up on his elbows, eyes gleaming.

"We'll be right there," he said, and hung up. "John."

"Let me guess, we're going to skip having a proper breakfast to go haring off after a murderer," John said with a sigh.

"You love it," Sherlock said with a grin.

"We can't skip a shower," John said, already getting up.

"Why not?" Sherlock said.

"We're both covered in drying come, some of which is on your face," John said reasonably.

"True," Sherlock said. "Hurry John! The crime scene awaits."

It didn't take Sherlock long to drag them into a taxi, their hair still wet from the shower. John smirked as Sherlock wincingly took a seat in the back of the cab. John was actually surprised Sherlock had managed to dress so fast in spite of recent events. 

"Something bothering you, there?" John asked pleasantly.

"John," Sherlock growled.

At the crime scene, Anderson was already leaning over a body and photographing it. Sherlock hastily joined him without even saying anything to Lestrade, who was waiting for them.

"Sorry about that," John said with a sigh. "He's being a bit of a brat."

"You can always have him stand in the corner like a misbehaving child," Lestrade suggested as Sherlock finished looking at the body and came up to them.

"Oh, I don't know," John said, reaching behind Sherlock and pinching his arse before he could say a thing about his deductions to Lestrade.

Sherlock yelped loudly enough that everyone at the crime scene turned around to look at him. Sherlock flushed, and only just stopped himself from rubbing his throbbing arse.

"I have other methods of making sure he doesn't misbehave," John said.

"I really don't want to know," Lestrade said.

"You really don't," agreed John, and patted Sherlock's bottom lightly once Lestrade had turned back to the crime scene. 

Even that little touch made Sherlock make a strange, somewhat strangled squeak.

John could tell already that their new foray into the realm of riding crops, floggers, and paddles was going to be an interesting one.

Sherlock avoided sitting down on anything for the rest of the day, much to John's amusement and Sherlock's mortification. It was obvious that Lestrade's team knew something was going on, but didn't know what. John wouldn't actually reveal the real cause behind Sherlock's seemingly strange unwillingness to sit down, but it was fun to tease.

Sherlock actually made them walk back to Baker street from the crime scene, his arse was still so sore from earlier. John couldn't help but smirk, because no one walking by them would ever guess that the two upright British men had just engaged in some very kinky BDSM play. And even if they did, no one would suspect that John was the dominant one, not with his mild appearance and Sherlock's domineering ways.

They came upon a sex shop on their way home, and John saw Sherlock's gaze linger on a leather flogger in the window display. Still not daunted in spite of having just had a rather intense session at John's hands. Interesting.

"Have I got plans for you," he said to Sherlock, voice pitched just for his ears.

Sherlock's neck and ears flushed, and John smiled secretly as they made their way back home to Baker street.


	5. O Captain My Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has been very naughty and deserves to be punished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after all this time, this fic of porn is finally finished. Don't worry, I did say this series was a quartet, meaning there's one more fic to go, but this one is over. Hope you enjoyed it! But really. So much porn.

John had largely given up on trying to hide new acquisitions from Sherlock, because somehow, he always knew when John was up to something. So he ordered his latest new toys from a website, using his own email, and directed it to be delivered to 221b. He knew Sherlock would figure it out.

When he got in from the clinic, he ran into Mrs. Hudson on the way in, who stopped him and handed him his parcel, which she'd signed for in his absence. It was an ordinary-looking parcel, with nothing to give away what it actually contained. 

Of course, Mrs. Hudson wouldn't be shocked by anything, even if she did know, not with her interesting past.

But the package didn't raise so much as an eyebrow in his direction, so he took it upstairs, and put it on their bed to open later.

He made supper, and Sherlock came home, and John made him finish everything, promising if he was a good boy, they would play later. Sherlock's eyes lit up at this, and he made sure to clean his plate.

Sherlock dashed to the bathroom as soon as they'd both finished to clean his teeth, and John waited for him to instigate play.

Sherlock was in the bathroom for a while, and John was beginning to wonder what he was doing. He hadn't gone into their room yet and seen the package, so there were very few things it could be. And then, Sherlock emerged, and to John's surprise, he immediately assumed John's customary at-ease pose, standing rigidly, hands behind his back, eyes facing straight forward.

"Sir," he said. "I'm here to receive my punishment, sir."

John turned in surprise to find Sherlock wearing what was obviously supposed to be a sexy army costume. He had on the tiniest pair of what John could only think to describe as "booty shorts" in a camo pattern and the sleekest, tall black boots, highlighting the length of his legs. The sleeveless muscle shirt he was wearing was so skintight and thin that John could see his peaked nipples through the material.

In other words, he was sexy as hell, and was trying something new.

"You've been quite the naughty lad, haven't you, Private Holmes," John murmured, getting to his feet, already falling back into army mannerisms.

He hadn't done much roleplay before, but luckily, not only did he know a lot about the army, but he also knew a lot about what Sherlock liked. Apparently, one thing he liked was army men, which is something that John felt should have been obvious, but something he'd missed. He'd have to test this out and see.

"What do you think I should do to punish you, Private?" John asked, circling him in a predatory manner. "You've been awfully naughty. Gone AWOL. Wouldn't want a court-martial, would we? You're going to have to do a lot to make up for that."

"I... " Sherlock swallowed hard. "I could scrub the latrines, sir."

"Oh, you've been a bad, bad soldier, Holmes," John said. "The latrines won't cut it this time."

"I could..." and Sherlock started blushing. John wasn't sure if he was actually embarrassed, or if he had such control of himself that he could blush on command.

"Spit it out, Holmes," he barked.

"Sir! I could... I could suck your cock, sir." Sherlock was flushing down his neck, too.

"Getting warmer, Holmes," John said. "But a punishment can't be something you'd like to do anyway."

"You could give me a spanking, sir," Sherlock said.

John could see that Sherlock was already starting to get hard, as the tiny shorts left very little to the imagination.

"And how many times should I spank you, Holmes?" he growled, moving in close.

"Th-thirty times, sir," Sherlock said. "I – I've been very bad and deserve to be punished properly."

John still wasn't sure how much of Sherlock's blushing and stuttering was acting, as part of the role, but he did know that Sherlock was asking for a good spanking. He intended to deliver.

He also intended to make Sherlock's little fantasy a little more real.

"Go wait in my quarters, Private," he said. "I've got a little something to prepare for you."

Sherlock went, and John rushed up the stairs, stripping faster than he had ever stripped in his life. He rummaged through the back of his wardrobe upstairs, which is where his army things still were. He hadn't touched these things in years, but they should still fit him.

He slowed down a little as he opened the zip on his duffle. He was long over being forced to leave the army because of his injury, but it had been a long time since he'd thought of putting on his uniform again. He would never wear it in public, no. But a little fun around the house when it obviously turned Sherlock on to no end? That would be fine by him.

He didn't bother putting on anything but his combat trousers and boots. They did still fit, if a bit tightly around the middle, but it wasn't as if they were staying on for that long anyway.

He went back downstairs and found Sherlock in their room, standing at attention. His eyes widened fractionally at the sight of John in his actual uniform, and his throat bobbed. Right on the money, Sherlock was aroused by John wearing combats.

John didn't say anything to him, but crossed over to the package on the bed. Sherlock hadn't touched it, and John tore it open.

"Ah, perfect," he murmured to himself as he found what he wanted inside.

He went around to stand in front of Sherlock and barked, "Hands out."

Sherlock looked at him questioningly, but did as ordered. His eyes widened at the sight of the black leather cuffs that John slid around his wrists. They were a thing of beauty, real leather, one thick cuff lined with two straps to buckle them shut, each with a loop to secure a ring through, joined by a silver chain. It had been expensive, but worth it to see them adorning Sherlock's wrists. It had nothing to do with the roleplay, John just wanted to see him wear them.

"Now," John breathed eagerly. "Outside of this roleplay, Sherlock, I need you to accept this."

He collected the next item from the bed, and Sherlock's eyes widened. It was a leather collar, similar to the cuffs. It was a slightly different thing to ask someone to accept being collared.

"I –" Sherlock said, eyes still wide.

"You can say no," John said. "Just know that if I put it on you, only I am allowed to take it off again."

"Yes," Sherlock said in a raspy voice. "God, yes."

John reached up and fastened it around his neck, the doctor in him making sure to check that there was enough room for him to breath easily. Sherlock seemed to puff up once he had the collar on, preening.

"Good lad," John whispered, and Sherlock shivered.

"Now where were we," John continued, slipping back into his role. "Ah, right. Punishment. Who has been a naughty soldier and broken the rules."

"I have, sir," Sherlock said.

"And you've chosen to go with a spanking as your due punishment. Good choice, Private."

John surveyed the area and what he had to work with. He knew exactly where he wanted Sherlock.

"Get on the bed, on your knees, arse up, head down," John ordered.

Sherlock did as he was told, cheeks still pink as he got into the position. He looked back over his shoulder, and John smiled crookedly at him before moving. He pulled the little tiny shorts down his thighs, exposing Sherlock's arse. Sherlock whimpered and John smirked.

"We haven't even got started, sweet-pea," he said.

"Will you please punish me, Captain?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh yes," John said. "Can you count them for me, Private?"

"Sir!" Sherlock said loudly, squirming a bit on the bed, arse bobbing with the movement.

"Good," John said, and brought his hand down on Sherlock's left cheek. It rippled with the impact, and Sherlock whimpered again.

"One," he said, with a whine.

John smacked him again, palm open, and the sound echoed in the otherwise quiet room. Outside, the cars went by, and next door the television was playing, but John was concentrating on the way Sherlock's flesh moved as his hand impacted, and the way he could see his handprint left behind on pale skin.

"... four... five... six..." Sherlock whimpered.

He let up for a moment and felt Sherlock's arse, squeezed it in his palms, felt the heat of his marked-up skin. Sherlock whined, but John could see his erection between his legs, bobbing in time with each strike.

He continued his punishment, and eventually his hand began to sting as well.

"You're doing so well, love," he said, stroking Sherlock's arse, rubbing a finger over his arsehole. Sherlock pushed back against the pressure and whined as John withdrew. "If you're very very good, we'll let you lie on my lap, how does that sound private?"

"Oh, please, sir," Sherlock pleaded.

John spanked him again and asked, "How many is that?"

"T-twenty, sir," Sherlock whispered, face pressed to the sheets, flushed bright red.

"Good lad, get up."

Sherlock did so, movements slow. His arse cheeks were bright red from his punishment, and his face was bright red from arousal.

John sat down on the edge of the bed and patted his lap.

Biting his lip, Sherlock clambered across John's lap. John reached up and pressed down on his arse, so that Sherlock was lying across his legs. Sherlock's erection rubbed against his thigh and John grinned as Sherlock surreptitiously tried to put more pressure on his aching cock. 

"Ah, ah, ah, none of that, Private," John scolded him, and added a spank to the end of his admonition.

"Twenty-one," Sherlock gasped, clutching at the sheets and kicking his legs against the bed.

"Good lad," John said, stroking his arse.

"Hurts," Sherlock choked.

"I know, sweetheart. Once you get through this, you can have your reward."

John spanked him.

"Twenty-two," Sherlock sobbed.

As he spanked Sherlock, John felt Sherlock leaking and rubbing against his leg. By the time he reached twenty-eight spanks, Sherlock was sobbing with a mixture of pain and frustration. John stopped for a moment, and Sherlock rutted against his leg.

"You're going to come," John observed.

"Y-yes, Captain," Sherlock keened in desperation.

"Very well, permission granted," John said.

He spanked Sherlock twice more, and Sherlock mewled and writhed on John's lap. Slick warmth coated John's leg as Sherlock came, and John rubbed a hand over his back as he shuddered with the aftershocks of orgasm.

"Very good, Private," John said. "Now you get your reward, for carrying out your punishment."

Sherlock looked up, slightly dazed, and said, "I want to suck your cock, sir."

"Very good," John murmured.

"And – " Sherlock looked down again and swallowed hard. Continuing, he struggled on, and said, "I want y-you to fuck me, sir."

"What's that, Private?" John asked in slight trepidation.

Sherlock's lip wobbled, and he repeated, "I want you to fuck me... John."

"Okay," John said gently.

They hadn't tried penatrative sex on either of their parts yet, and John had thought Sherlock was quite content with fingers and toys. Apparently he'd decided he wanted more.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded, and finally looked at him. "Yes."

"Okay," John repeated, more firmly. "First things, first. On your knees. You know what to do."

Sherlock certainly did. He'd become very very good at sucking cock over the past few months, and it was one of his favourite things to do in the bedroom. He knew how to draw it out, and he set to, chain of his leather cuffs clinking as he undid John's flies and pulled his trousers around his thighs. Sherlock nuzzled his face into John's groin, inhaling as he nosed at the base of John's cock.

"Oh, that's a good lad," John groaned, reaching down to run his hand through Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock smiled and looked up through his eyelashes, something he knew John loved. Slowly, he lapped up the underside of John's cock, and then rubbed his cheek up the length. He was in no rush. He could draw this out for ages, and John swore that he just plain enjoyed it, just for the sake of having a cock in his mouth. Not that he couldn't suck John off quickly when he put his mind to it, he just enjoyed the build-up. 

John himself quite enjoyed this as well. Half of it was just the aesthetic of Sherlock on his knees, perfect plush mouth lavishing attention on him. Sherlock tongued the head of his cock, pressing at the slit, and John's cock throbbed.

He was starting to get a little too heated up, so he checked to see if Sherlock was still soft from his orgasm. Sherlock wasn't hard yet, but John had a fair estimate on how long it took to get Sherlock going again.

"That's good, love," he said. "Come on, let's get you up on the bed and take a look at you."

Sherlock clambered up, and John lay him out on the bed, hovering over him. John reached up and undid the cuffs, dropping them off the side of the bed. He left the collar, but started undressing Sherlock, getting him out of the silly little costume.

He got them both totally unclothed, and then leaned down to kiss Sherlock's ridiculous mouth. Sherlock sighed as John made contact, and reached up to wrap his arms around John's neck, burying a hand in John's short-cropped hair. His arms were smooth and warm, and John turned his head to kiss Sherlock's bicep.

"Ah, you're gorgeous," he said, leaning down to kiss one of Sherlock's cheekbones.

Sherlock flushed, then arched his neck to the side. John kissed down the length of his jaw and down his neck, gently. His thumbs came up to knead Sherlock's nipples, and Sherlock's back arched. John's mouth came down to cover one, lapping at the little hard bud and sucking it until Sherlock made tiny little sharp sounds of pleasure. He smoothed his hands down Sherlock's silky sides, feeling the jut of his ribcage, and the curve of his hipbones.

"John," Sherlock breathed, hips moving under his hands, pressing up.

He was starting to get hard again, and John had plans for when he was fully aroused.

"Come on, up," he said, hooking his hands under Sherlock's knees.

Sherlock knew what he was doing and folded himself so that his knees were up near his ears. His legs were spread, and John could see everything, his half-hard cock, his cute bollocks, and his arse, still red from his earlier punishment.

"I am going to devour you," John said with a grin.

"Oh," Sherlock whispered with a little shiver and shimmy of his hips. "Yes, please, sir."

He put his hands on Sherlock's cheeks, and Sherlock whined as John's thumbs pressed against his sore flesh. John spread him open, looking down at the little whorl of his hole, pink and perfect, nestled in between his bright red arse cheeks. John leaned in and licked a stripe up his crack, right up to his balls. Sherlock moaned, and tried to spread his legs even more, although that was impossible by this point. John delved in pressing his tongue to Sherlock's hole and wiggling. He circled the tip of his tongue over each ridge, trying to gain access. Sherlock panted and gasped with each pass of John's tongue, pushing back against the intrusion.

"John, God, please..." Sherlock cried, quivering with need. "I need... I need your fingers in me, now."

"As you wish, sweetheart," John said.

He reached into the side drawer where the lube was stashed and dribbled some onto his fingers. Slicking it between his fingers, he warmed it up before pressing his index finger against Sherlock's hole. It slid in easily, but John still eased him open slightly before adding a second. Sherlock's cock was hard again, lying flat against his stomach and leaking precome.

"I'm ready," Sherlock said, with difficulty, his hair sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.

"Shhh, just let me work in one more finger," John said, and scissored his fingers until he could fit a third.

Sherlock groaned with each movement, pumping his hips to meet the thrust of John's fingers.

"Please," he said, voice ragged. "I want you inside me now. I want it so badly."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"Yes, damn it, I am!" Sherlock yelled, throwing his head back. "I'm begging you!"

John laughed softly, and slicked more lube over his cock and around Sherlock's entrance before easing forward with a slow roll of his hips. Sherlock groaned loudly, grabbing at John's arse to pull him forward. John panted as he sank into velvety wet heat, deeper and deeper. When he finally bottomed out against Sherlock's arse, they were both breathing hard and clinging to each other.

There was sweat dripping into John's eye, but damned if he cared about that right now.

"Alright?" he asked, forehead pressed to Sherlock's shoulder.

"Move, John," Sherlock whispered against his ear.

John moved, and Sherlock swore softly as John plunged into him. There was a sharp sting as Sherlock's clinging hands accidentally scratched down John's back. John grunted and pulled Sherlock's hips up, trying to find just the right angle.

Sherlock cried out loudly, sound pouring from his throat, deep moans from somewhere visceral inside him. That was the spot then.

"J-john, John," Sherlock's ragged voice against his ear made John's groin throb.

"Yes, love," he panted back.

"Coming – coming!" Sherlock's voice pitched up as another of John's thrusts hit home.

"I've got you," John said.

Sherlock convulsed around him, arms clutching at his back, screaming as if he were dying, muscles rigid and shaking, cock twitching and spurting fluid over his stomach. John felt Sherlock's arse tighten impossibly around his cock and plunged over the edge right behind him.

John couldn't bring himself to move, even though he knew he had to be crushing Sherlock with his weight. His muscles were still trembling, and his thighs felt watery enough that John wasn't confident with his ability to walk straight. Eventually, he tried to roll off of Sherlock, but Sherlock made a sound of protest and tightened his arms around John's neck.

"So, did you like that?" John asked softly.

"Don't be silly John, of course I liked that," Sherlock grumbled in his ear. "Now don't even dare to think of doing something idiotic. Like moving."

John smiled and said, "Of course not."

John relaxed in the warmth of Sherlock's arms and listened to Sherlock's steady heart beating against his ear. He could hardly believe he and this incredible person were still learning new things about one another.

"Will I ever finish learning you, Sherlock Holmes?" John whispered against his throat.

"Never," Sherlock replied.

That was fine with John, so long as he could keep him forever.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Tumblr](http://testosterone-tea.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> 
> [My giveaway policy](http://testosterone-tea.tumblr.com/giveaways)


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